


Blackberries

by GoldenDaydreams



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Childhood Friends, First Meetings, Fluff, Fluffy, Friendship, Gen, Kid Fic, Meet-Cute, Scared Parents, Stiles Loves Blackberries, Werefox Stiles, Werewolf Derek Hale, Werewolf Hunters, Young Derek Hale, Young Stiles, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-26 16:43:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14406255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenDaydreams/pseuds/GoldenDaydreams
Summary: His mother’s rules were pretty easy to remember, and he felt confident he could abide by them and still have a good time. There were only three: 1. don’t shift back until he’s home, 2. don’t cross the stream and, 3. for the love of all that is good in the world, do not bring another dead squirrel home. See, easy peasy.... well, at least he didn't break rule three, right?





	Blackberries

**Author's Note:**

> I was just going to be a casual Teen Wolf fan, but then let it take over my life. *Sigh*   
> Posting late at night, if I missed any tags lemme know. <3

The mid-day sun made the fall day pleasantly warm. The little fox scampered through the underbrush, pleased that he’d been allowed out to play with minimal rules. His mother’s rules were pretty easy to remember, and he felt confident he could abide by them and still have a good time. There were only three: 1. don’t shift back until he’s home, 2. don’t cross the stream and, 3. for the love of all that is good in the world, do not bring another dead squirrel home. See, easy peasy.

He jumped up on a small rock that felt bigger considering his size. Ears twitching at a noise, his eyes spotted a cricket that hopped and stopped. Eyes on the prize, he dropped low, ready to pounce. _Three, two_ \- he wiggled a little, the excitement of the hunt- _ONE!_ He dove off the rock, but his prey hopped out of the way, and kept on going.

He scampered after the cricket, stopping now and then to refocus, his mind scattering on all the other details, like the wind whistling through the dancing trees, the old dead leaves of last fall rustling over the dirt and stones, the noises of other wildlife in the forest. He chased the cricket only to stop and drop his butt right to the ground.

He stared at the stream, realizing with dread he was much further from home than he’d realized. Technically, he was still on open land, free and safe to be there. On the other side though, there would be real, live werewolves.

For the entirety of his youth he’d been taught to be wary, but respectful to the wolves, because they could eat him right up. A little fox like him, hardly a meal. If he went to the other side of the stream, it would be disrespectful to the wolves as it was their property, and he’d be considered fair game.

 _It’s not going to be hunting Stiles season, nope, nope, nope,_ he thought to himself. He’d been lectured. He knew better. He was _eight_ and there was no way he’d cross that stream. No way. His parents knew he could be trusted to follow the- _wait, wait, wait, hold up, are those blackberries?_

Inching forward, he crept up to the edge of the stream. Yep, those were blackberries. His mouth watered. They were his absolute favourite. He looked down at the water, then the other side of the stream. It wasn’t that far. He’d hardly be out of the water and able to pinch a few off the stems and gobble them down, and be back on his side of the stream and no one would be any wiser.

Looking around, he didn’t see anyone, no big growly beast waiting to eat him up.

Nope, just tasty blackberries.

He paced his side of the stream as he mulled it over.

His parents would never find out.

He’d be fast.

Real fast.

He stopped pacing, took one last look around, sniffed the air a bit- even if he wasn’t very good with his nose yet- eyed his prize and shot off. His little paws splashed as he darted across the stream that due to the summer time drought was hardly an inch of water- more of a stubborn puddle rather than a stream.

Wet paws darted over the stones and dirt of the other side, his mouth latched onto his chosen blackberry, and he twisted his head only to find the blackberry stubbornly hanging on to the bush. He scrambled backward with his teeth stubbornly cutting into the base of his prize. Suddenly, the branch gave way and he fell backward, rolling awkwardly into the water all over- a moment of terror struck him, because he couldn’t swim, but then remembered it wasn’t deep, rolled over and sprinted back to his side. The kit huffed and puffed, its teeth around the broken branch decorated with three plump blackberries.

Chest puffing up a little with pride, he stalked around his stem of blackberries. He’d done it. He’d gone over to the wolves side and he’d come back with their blackberries. He took the wolves’ blackberries. A delighted yip escaped him, and he stomped his paw on the stem and tore the first blackberry from it with his sharp teeth. The sweet berry exploded in his mouth. With a great deal of glee, he ate the other two, and glanced up at the sun. He needed to get back to the house for lunch soon.

With that on his mind, he darted back through the forest, wondering if his Mom would have time to bake a pie with him for desert.

:::

The next day, the kit found himself back at the stream.

He couldn’t help it.

Blackberries were his Kryptonite.

He edged closer and closer to the stream.  He paused as he saw a wolf distance; a small, tawny wolf, hunched over, ready to pounce. His eyes trailed over a boy who wasn’t paying attention.

The wolf was going to get him. Stiles dashed forward making all kinds of noise in distraction. The wolf pounced on the boy knocking him back hard. A panicked gekkering slipped through his lips. As he came up to the line of trees, he noticed that the wolf had turned to stare at him. He made a low whine as he looked at the boy, but knew he was no match for the wolf. Indecisive, he froze in place.

The unnatural golden gaze startled him enough to have him scamper back a few steps, but he stayed.

“Stop it,” the boy’s voice a low rumble. “Off.” He pushed but the wolf growled and planted its paws more firmly, the tawny wolf growling in his face.

Instinct drove Stiles forward with a sharp bark, mimicking the sound his mother made when he got too close to danger.

The boy managed to get his legs under the wolf’s belly and kicked it off. He then sat up, but didn’t appear concerned about the fact that he’d nearly been mauled. Only then did it occur to Stiles that the boy wasn’t concerned because he too was a werewolf, simply still being a boy instead of a wolf. “Enough! Go play with Cora,” the boy demanded.

Instead, the wolf turned her gaze over to Stiles. He chose to back off, hiding in the underbrush.

The boy ignored her, and Stiles both. He instead chose to sort through the rocks, picking them up, looking them over, and then either discarding them with a toss over his shoulder, or pocketing the ones he found interesting. The wolf got bored, and trotted casually out of sight.

The boy looked to where the wolf had gone, then stood and walked to the water line, not letting it touch his shoes. “You’re a were-fox, aren’t you?”

Stiles’ ears moved of their own accord, and he scooted forward just a bit, his face poking out of the brush.

“Yeah, you are.” The boy had his hands in his pockets. “No way you’re a normal fox.” He tilted his head. “Did you think the wolf was going to hurt me?”

Stiles trotted out of the bush, but sat far enough away that he could still scamper away for cover. He knew a good hollow log to hide in, he could crawl in, but no way could a wolf.  Since he couldn’t answer with words in this form, he nodded- slow, and deliberate.

“She was just playing,” he explained. “She’s my big sister. She wouldn’t hurt me for real.” The calculating gaze of the boy made Stiles nervous. “How old are you, you look like just a little baby, but you understand me fine.”

Stiles bristled, _how dare he_? He looked around and then trotted around, collecting eight twigs and laying them in a row on his side of the stream.

“Eight,” the boy counted. “You’re a clever little fox, aren’t you?”

At that he puffed up a little, sitting proudly.

“You’re the one stealing blackberries.”

Stiles’s eyes widened.

The boy laughed. “You left the stem on your side.” He then walked over to the bush, fanned out his fingers, the nails extending into claws, and he cut off a few branches. He took off his shoes, then his socks, and then walked barefoot across the puddle and placed the stems on his side of the stream, then went back, sitting down and waiting for his feet to dry. “You gonna eat them?”

Stiles nibbled on the blackberries, and the boy laid back and stared at the sky, and thus began their tentative friendship.

::

The boys enjoyed each other’s company for weeks. The boy sometimes would read aloud from his books, and then turn it to show Stiles the pictures. Stiles would jump around and yip and splash when the water was low enough just to make the boy laugh. Whenever they missed each other they would leave something behind. The boy had left blackberries on Stile’s side of the stream the day’s he’d been there. Stiles would leave pretty rocks on the wolf’s side whenever he came around.

On this day, he’d brought a rock with him, clenched carefully between his sharp teeth. It was a pretty soft blue and white and reminded him of his mother’s sundress that she claimed was her favourite.

The boy had already left a few branches on the side of the stream. Fresh, plump blackberries awaited him. He stepped carefully into the water, it was getting a little higher, now coming up to his knees. He trudged along and left the rock on the other side, then trudged back through the water. On his side, he shook off the best he could.

The boy stood, he wore a black t-shirt with a dinosaur on it, a pair of green shorts, and black sneakers. He had a backpack to the side, and Stiles wondered if there were toys in it, or if the boy just used it for his rock collection.

He crouched down and picked up the rock that Stiles had brought. He turned it over in his hand a few times, checking it out at different angles. “This is pretty. Thank you.”

Stiles made a pleased sound at the back of his throat that came out more of a happy whining. He picked at the large berries, laying on his belly, with the twig between his paws.

“I have a book that has all the names for rocks. I’m trying to find all of them.” The boy tilted his head a little, studying the stone under the setting sun. “I’m not sure what this one is called, but I’ll match it in the book tonight.” the boy tucked the stone into the pocket of his shorts.

They mostly just sat together at the edge of the stream doing their own thing. The boy kept looking for stones. Stiles yipped and took off down the water line in pursuit of a cricket. Crunching down on it, he trotted back to the stream. His tongue ran over his teeth, not as good as the berries, but crickets did have a satisfying crunch.

“You’re pretty fast,” the boy commented upon his return. “I can’t shift all the way yet, but when I do, I’ll be _real_ fast.”

Stiles had questions, but he’d need to be in another form to ask them. He wasn’t allowed to transform out in the open, not only did it expose him, but it also made him quite sleepy- or perhaps it was all the running around he did in this form. He couldn’t come through the woods as a boy either, his parents wouldn’t allow it, he couldn’t defend himself like that.

He looked morosely at the empty twig, then to the large bushes behind the boy. The boy noticed and smiled. “You want more, don’t you?”

Stiles nodded.

“Okay.” The boy got up, fanned out his hand and his nails became claws. It was seriously cool. Unlike wolves, foxes didn’t have a beta shift. But unlike wolves, foxes had an easy time with a full shift. You win some, you lose some. The nails easily sliced away a few more branches, and the boy gently tossed them over the water. “I have to go home soon. Mom doesn’t want me out after dark.”

That wasn’t surprising, his own mother didn’t want him out after dark either. He quickly ate the berries, and drank a little from the stream, hoping that the water would wash away any of the berries juices that may have gotten onto his fur.

A branch snapped and his ears twitched in the sound of the direction. Maybe another fox?  Whatever it was, it was behind him, and closing in. His nose twitched, but he wasn’t so good with scents yet. He smelled the wet earth near him, the dead leaves, the pine needles. Something not woods. Something crisp and sharp that reminded him of his father’s aftershave, but that wasn’t it. It wasn’t his Dad.

The boy was alert, frozen in a crouch, claws extended. “Little Fox,” he whispered. “You smell that?”

He didn’t know what scent the boy was referring too, but the hairs on his body stood on end.

“Wolfsbane,” the boy whispered, a tremor of fear in the word. “It’s hunters! Run!”

Stiles whimpered. Behind him, hunters. In front of him the stream he couldn’t cross. He sunk low to the ground, frozen with indecision. What was worse? Being shot and skinned for a pelt, or being ripped apart by wolves? At least being shot would be quick.

“Come on, Little Fox!” The boy motioned him to cross the stream. “Hurry, come on, come on!”

Something sharp and tangy hit the air. He knew he should know it from his lessons, but it was so hard to pay attention when everything had a smell.

In the distance he saw a man near a tree, a large gun in hand. Survival instinct kicked in, and he splashed across the stream making too much noise but too afraid to do anything but run. The boy ran too, faster than Stiles had expected the boy to be able to move in such a body. He heard a _‘thunk’_ and saw the glint of an arrow stuck in a nearby fallen tree.

Close. Too close.

He scampered into a hollow log, using it for cover as he ran through to the other side. He lost track of the boy, but kept running, the hunter was too close, he couldn’t try and find his friend. He scampered about, diving through underbrush, weaving around trees, sprinting at full speed.

At a clearing, he froze, afraid of the open space, but realized he didn’t hear the hunter who’d been following. He’d lost the hunter for the time being. His heart beat like hummingbirds wings, he panted as he looked around. From in the woods, he heard a shout, then silence.

The sun was leaving its last glow, and in the shadows in the clearing he saw a house nestled among the trees. It must be the boy’s house. His family of werewolves inside. Wolves that could kill him.

The boy was still in the woods.

He sprinted across the clearing, bound his way up the stairs, and made a yipping sound. He couldn’t explain about the hunters like this. The wolves would just eat him up.

He stretched low to the ground, thinking about his fingers, about his long arms, his long legs, his toes. His fur sunk back, limbs extended, bones rearranging until he was an exhausted panting mess of gangly boy laying on the porch.

A hand touched his shoulder, and he looked fearfully at the woman with dark hair and red eyes.

“Hunters in the woods,” he panted. “They chased the boy with the rocks.”

The woman’s expression shifted from confused to terrified, and she looked over her shoulder at a tall dark haired man who looked murderous.

“Derek,” she said softly before standing. She stepped over him, shedding her dress as she stepped off the steps and her body arched and shifting too fast to even comprehend, a black wolf stood in her place.

Stiles thought of his fur, of protection, of little paws and razor sharp teeth, and pointy ears. The shift was always harder this way, and being so exhausted already he almost didn’t make it, but he managed, a little ball of red and black fluff shakily getting to his feet.

A charcoal blonde wolf- Stile’s assumed it was the dark haired man who had been in the doorway- nudged the fox toward the door, then dove off the stairs, the two wolves ran through the clearing.

Stiles couldn’t just lay there. He couldn’t let his friend be killed. After all, _Derek_ had stayed at the stream when he could have run, he prompted Stiles into action, he’d made him run ahead, he’d protected Stiles.

He fell a bit behind the two full grown wolves, but kept on their tails who stopped to sniff the air a few times, and that was how Stiles caught up.

His eyes caught glint of the stone on the ground. He whined, yipped, and was glared at by the wolves. He nosed the stone on the ground, the blue and white one he’d brought Derek. The one that he saw Derek put in his pocket. He looked around, terror coursing through his tiny body.

A terrifyingly sharp roar that became a sobbing cry echoed through the woods. The wolves took off in that direction, following the noise, and Stiles took off after them.

The boy had been tied to a tree. His dinosaur t-shirt was torn and bloody. His knees looked scraped up, like he’d fallen. The wolves were off like bullets, jumping on and ripping into the two hunters without mercy.

A gun went off, and Derek screamed, and thrashed. Stiles went belly to the ground, and crawled over to Derek, his nose running along the boy’s calf. He took a look at the fighting, the hunter had shot the lighter wolf, and the dark one was trying to fight both hunters by herself. Derek couldn’t defend himself like this, and the light wolf was struggling just to get to his feet.

He laid down at Derek’s feet. _Fingers and toes. Fingers and toes. Fingers and toes._ His limbs extended, and he felt his bones pop in a few places, aching from shifting too much in too short of a time. Exhausted and panting, he pushed to his knees, fingers struggling with the knots of thin rope that smelled strange. Whatever it was seemed to eat away at Derek’s strength- wolfsbane- Stiles figured, that was what Derek had smelled and been so afraid of.

It didn’t affect foxes though, his nimble fingers tugged and got one wrist undone. Derek’s claws were already out, and he sliced away the binding on the other side. He grabbed Stiles by the arm and dragged him behind the large tree he’d been tied to. “Stay low. Stay here,” Derek ordered before he did his partial shift and charged around the tree howling with rage.

Despite the fighting, the roaring, the occasional burst of gunfire, Stiles could barely keep his eyes open. The shifts had drained his energy too much. He curled in a little ball, his bare skin unprotected from the cold. He wished for his fur, but didn’t have it in him for another shift. He drifted on the edge of unconsciousness, black edged his vision, while white spots danced like fireflies.

His parents would be worried by now. The darkness had settled in, and he wasn’t supposed to be out past sunset.

A woman stepped out of the woods. Another wolf? The silver glint caught his attention- a gun. Another hunter then. She raised the gun.  “Derek!” he shouted out, desperate and terrified.

He didn’t want to die, he wanted to go back to the stream, and eat black berries and crickets, and listen to the boy read books, and talk about rocks. He wanted to go home, and snuggle up with his mom and play catch with his dad. Fear was electric, his body wanted to shift so badly, but he couldn’t, he couldn’t move, he was frozen to the spot.

A small black wolf darted past, pouncing on the short woman, teeth clamping down instinctively on the neck and giving it a good shake.

The little wolf turned, eyes turning from burning gold to blazing blue. The wolf whined, and Stiles reached out, his hand shaking with his exhaustion. “Come here,” he whispered, the wolf slowly stepped over, nose low to the ground but still maintaining eye contact, tail between his legs. Stiles touched the fur, and launched his body at the warmth, wrapping his arms around the thick neck, nuzzling there. “Precious Wolf, you saved me. Thank you.”

The big black wolf came into view, the light one leaning against her. Stiles held tighter, fingers clenching into fists of Derek’s fur. He wasn’t supposed to be on this side of the stream. This is how little foxes become wolf chow. He burrowed his face into Derek’s neck with a hiccupped sob. Instead of teeth, he was prodded by a wet nose in the side, then again, and again until he pulled his face away. The big black wolf was sitting there, and nudged him again then dropped her chin onto Derek’s back.

He didn’t understand why she didn’t bite him, didn’t chew him into little bits. Instead, she nudged him again, and tapped Derek’s back.

“You… you want me to climb on him?”

The wolf nodded, then went back to where the light wolf was leaning against a tree.

“So. I’m,” he swallowed hard past the lump in his throat. “I’m going to climb on you now, I guess?”

Derek stood, and since Stiles’s arms were still around him, he was dragged halfway to his feet too. It was difficult, because though he was a ‘small wolf’ he was still rather tall in comparison to Stiles even as a boy. He dropped his chest onto the wolf and tried to get a leg up, a little embarrassed about the no clothes situation, but his family had always been cool about the nudity, and he figured all shifters must be.

Once he wiggled onto Derek’s back, he laid there, arms loosely around his neck, Derek keeping pace with the two wolves who led the way. Warm, and feeling protected by his Precious Wolf, he let his eyes droop, and the moment they shut, he was out for the count.

::

When Stiles woke up, he was in a twin sized bed, blankets over him, and Derek still in wolf form back against Stiles’s legs, head on his stomach. He pulled his hand free of the blankets, and scratched the wolf behind the ears, he shifted a little lower, and the hind leg started to twitch. Those blazing blue eyes opened and stared at him.

“Hi,” he said softly. He glanced around and noticed a basketball in the corner, a hamper of dirty clothes, a desk that was covered in rocks, a shelf that was covered in more rocks, a basketball poster on the wall, a big dresser that had a few bits of clothes poking out. “This is your room.” Strange to think that the little wolf lived much like he did. Stiles had Lacrosse equipment in his room, piles of books, a Mets poster and calendar- he didn’t play, but he liked to watch it with his Dad. They both had the usual boys’ room. “It’s a nice room.”

The wolf, _Derek_ , he reminded himself jumped off the bed, and made a show of sniffing the air.

Stiles sniffed a little too, while his nose wasn’t as good as it was in fox form, and while he still wasn’t good at identifying scents nor scent markers, he did know this one. “Bacon!” He pushed aside the blankets and noticed he was still naked. He tried to cover himself with his hands and looked at the wolf.

Derek trotted over to the dresser, lips pulled back to expose dangerous looking teeth which carefully latched onto the handle in the center and he stepped back pulling it open.

“Okay,” Stiles walked over, and the wolf looked out the window, giving him some privacy. Once he was dressed- the pants were too long, and the sweater made a disappearing act out of his fingers, but he was warm and cozy. “’Kay, all dressed.”

The wolf turned back to him, then walked around him and nudged his butt with his head, nudging him again, toward the door. “Ah, you can’t get out, the door is closed.”

Stiles gripped the circular knob and pulled back when he realized there was drool on it. Clearly Derek had tried to get it open at one point. “Gross,” he muttered, wiping the drool on the pants. With the sweater over his hand he turned the knob, and pulled the door open. The scent of bacon wafted through the air, and then he remembered how close to being breakfast he was. “No one is going to eat me, right?”

The wolf responded with a blank stare, carefully gripped the end of the arm of the sweater with his teeth, and lead Stiles down the stairs. “Wait,” he said stopping at the bottom. The wolf looked over at him, the sweater still in his mouth. “Is this like a fur only event, because you’re still furry, should I be furry too?”

Derek’s big blue eyes did a dramatic roll, and he tugged again to get them moving. It was not a fur only event, everyone else were people and wearing clothes. He looked to Derek and shuffled closer under the weight of their combined stares. “Um… you said I wasn’t breakfast,” he whispered. Derek released his hold on the sweater and sat down beside him.

“It’s alright, Little One,” the dark haired woman from the night before said, her eyes flashed red, but they quickly returned back to a deep brown. She crouched to more of his height, but remained at a distance. “I’m Talia, I’m Derek’s mom. What is your name?””

“Um… I’m… Stiles.” He swallowed hard, unsure about what to do. Everyone kept staring and he really wanted to retreat. All his senses told him to shift, to run, to get some place too small for big wolves, and hide. Derek was warm at his side though, and they were apex predators, they would be on him before he could even complete a shift much less have time to run.

Talia turned her attention to her pack. “Eat,” she ordered, and they all returned their attention to their plates, a quiet conversation going. Her eyes returned him. “Would you like something to eat? You’re surely starving by now.”

He wasn’t sure he should accept, but he also didn’t know if he could decline. Either way, he was sure she could hear the racing heart in his chest. “Okay,” he said softly, knowing it was better to eat with the wolves than potentially insulting them.

She smiled, warmly, like his mom did, not at all with the too many teeth he’d expected.

Stiles nudged Derek. “I think this is a people event. You need to wear your skin.”

“Ah,” Talia stood. “I don’t think Derek knows how yet. Last night was the first time he completed a full shift. He might be this way for a while.”

“Maybe wolves are bad at teaching then,” the words were out of his mouth before he could hold them in. He slapped his hands over his mouth. “I’m sorry,” he muttered around them. “I say things in my head but sometimes they come out my mouth.” He heard his parents talking about ADHD, whispering about it when they didn’t think he was listening, he didn’t know what it meant, but it had something to do with his excessive talking, his inability to sit still for more than five minutes at a time, and acting without thinking things through. They were still debating on sending him to a doctor.

“Perhaps the wolf shift is just harder,” Talia said.

“But you have the beta shift, so you should be more practiced, and all your bones and stuff stay closer to the same size of a human than my fox parts, they’re all smaller,” he said pinching his fingers closer together visualizing his shrinking bones.

Talia stared at him. “Well then, why don’t you teach Derek how to shift back?”

“Okay, I will, but you have to do something for me first.” He watched cop shows with his Dad. He knows how to negotiate. Dad didn’t raise no fool.

Her lips curved, and the man at her side full out laughed. “Oh, God, this is the best day ever. A six year old is negotiating with our Alpha.”

“Shut it, Peter,” Talia said while Stiles said; “Hey, I’m eight!”

Talia appeared unthreatened, even humoured. People were often humoured by Stiles. His dad said it was part of his ‘charm.’ Whatever that meant. “And what is it you’d like, Little One?”

“I want to call my mom and dad.”

“Okay,” she stood, and beckoned him to follow her into the hall. On a table, an old rotary phone sat. “It’s old, but it works. You know your phone number?”

“Yeah,” Stiles replied, picking up the phone. It didn’t have buttons like the one at home did, but Talia taught him to put his finger in the hole, and turn it all the way to the knobby thing, and Stiles thought it was pretty neat.

He waited, waited, then heard a breathless. “Hello?”

“Dad!” he shouted down the line.

“Stiles! Where the Hell are you? Your mom and I have been worried sick! She’s out looking for you, and I’ve been waiting here to see if you called or came back, _where the Hell are you_?”

“I’m okay. I’m… um,” he looked up at Talia, who motioned for the phone.

She spoke to his father in a moderated tone, told him what she knew of the night, of the hunters, of running through the woods, of getting help for Derek, for saving her boy- as she spoke, her fingers twisted in the cord, and Derek whined, butting his head against her thigh, and she smoothed a hand over his head. She told him the address, said that both he and his wife would be welcome and safe.

“Your father first has to find your mother,” Talia said, “and then they will come here. So, breakfast?”

::

The wolves were nice. They saved him bacon, Talia even made scrambled eggs for him even though no one else had wanted them that way. Derek ate a bunch of food from a plate on the floor, and licked it clean. When he whined, Stiles snuck Derek some of his own bacon. The wolf then licked the grease from his fingers, it tickled, and Stiles laughed.

Finished, one of the other wolves picked up the empty plates as everyone went about their day. “So, Stiles,” Talia said with a smirk, looking down at him. “Let’s go outside and see what you can teach Derek before your parents get here.”

Since he was already itching to move, it was good to have the permission to do so. He rushed out the front door with Derek at his side, Talia, Peter, and another man all sat down on the stairs of the porch while Derek and Stiles ran out a bit into the dew damp grass in the early morning light.

“Okay,” he started to pace. “First thing is first. Gotta think about your skin, helps if you got any special marks to think about, like a scar, or a burn, or a birthmark, or a freckle, or I think about the moles I got,” he poked his cheek, but he had them elsewhere too. “I guess you don’t have scars though, Mom says that wolves heal all the way, but foxes, we heal but we get left with the scars. I got one here,” he pointed to it, the heel of his hand where it met his wrist. “I braked too hard on my bike and went right over the handlebars.”

Derek just stared at him, looking vaguely bored.

“Right, so maybe you think about things like… your teeth? Your human ones, blunt, not pointy wolfy teeth. Do you have a birthmark? If you do, try that too. All the bits help. Okay, and next you have to think about your longer limbs… well, your arms look like they’re basically the same… hmm, maybe this is harder with wolves. Your human legs are longer, think about stretching them out all the way. Think about your fingers and toes, that helps lots, I always think about my fingers and toes, and just stretch, stretch, stretch.” He rambled, reaching for the sky on his tiptoes. “You can do it, Derek! Just try.”

The wolf stretched, and laid down, seeming quite content.

“You know, you’re making me look bad in front of your family,” he said dryly. He rubbed his chin. “Hey, maybe it’ll help if I show you.” He shucked off his clothes. “Okay. Gotta think fur when you’re going this way, the colour, and markings. I think about my pointy ears, and my little paws.”

He closed his eyes dropping to all fours, his back arched, and he felt the fur, his bones cracked and altered under his skin, it only took a few seconds but he was all fox. He laid there a moment, getting used to his more powerful senses settling in, his muscles relaxed, and he stood up. He yipped, excited to be in this form, adrenaline hitting his system being so close to the thing that made his senses go _danger, danger, danger_.

But it was Derek. So he bounced around a bit, enjoying the jumping while being a fox, he ran circles around the wolf, kicking up some leaves and grass while he was at it. And then Derek stood, and he froze, fear settling in.

Derek whined, like he could smell it, and dropped his front down to the ground, tail wagging, inviting play. Stiles made a pleased sound, any other animal and a whine was a bad thing, but his happy noise was always this silly pitchy whine that came across like _, ‘yes, play with me, love me, let’s have fun.’_ He dove at Derek, nuzzling his muzzle along the side of Derek’s, as close to a hug as they could get. Then he darted back, jumped in a circle, and swished his tail as he dropped his front half low.

They ran amok in the yard in an impromptu game of tag. He felt Derek’s powerful nose nudge against his side, and then the wolf was off like a shot, and Stiles darted after him. It took a while, but he finally caught Derek by diving on his back. He then scampered away, weaving this way and that, his lithe body made for the tight turns that made Derek- still unused to his full shift- stumble and roll on the ground.

After a few more rounds, he was exhausted, and showed it by dropping to the ground and rolling onto his back. It was vulnerable. He wouldn’t usually expose his belly or throat to anyone but his Mom, where he got his fox form from. Or his Dad, on occasion he could be used for epic belly scratches. They were the only ones he could trust like this.

Derek, he figured, would understand. He brushed his nose along his stomach, rubbed along his throat, then laid down next to him. Derek’s big ears turned and a moment later Stiles heard it. Tires crunching down on the gravel driveway.

He was so excited to see them. He’d almost died. He’d saved Derek. He’d had breakfast with the wolves. _Had_ breakfast, was _not_ breakfast, thank you very much. He yipped and jumped on Derek’s back with his excitement as the bright blue jeep came into view.

He jumped off Derek’s back, and remembered he couldn’t tell his parents anything like this. He sprawled out on his stomach. _Fingers and toes. Fingers and toes. Fingers and toes._ By the time he was fully a boy again, Derek was flanked by Talia, Peter, and the man whose name he didn’t know.

He looked to his parents who were on him in a second, his father dropped to his knees and pulled him into a hug so tight Stiles could barely breathe. His mother had her back to him, and he reached out to tug on her dress.

She ignored him, keeping her eyes on the wolves, and Stiles understood then. “It’s okay, Mom! Derek is my friend.”

“It’s not okay. It’s not okay, you could have been killed.”

“So could my son,” Talia said. “The hunters are the enemy. We do not need to be.”

“Your son, _your son_ has the jaw power to rip mine in half!”

Stiles wriggled out of his Dad’s arm, and reached out for the sweater that was nearby, pulling it back over his head while the mom’s fought it out.

“Let’s be civil here,” the tall man with broad shoulders said. “I’m Joseph, Talia’s husband and Derek’s father. This is my brother-in-law, Peter.”

“ _Sheriff_ Noah Stilinski,” his dad introduced himself, emphasizing his job title like a threat, standing so he had the stance to back it up.

“Claudia,” his mother said with a slight glare.

Stiles pulled the pants back on too it was all too big, and he knew he looked funny. “I’m helping Derek be a boy again.”

“Is that so,” his dad asked, ruffling his hair.

“Yeah, it’s harder for wolves,” he said with a frown, then turned to stare at Derek. “Or maybe you just like being furry because you can run faster.”

Derek whined, stretched and Stiles expected some kind of shift, but nothing happened. Derek dropped all the way to his stomach and put his paws over his muzzle.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Stiles said breaking away from his parents and crouching down in front of Derek.

“Stiles, get back!” his mom snapped.

Instead of listening, he put his face right down so their noses touched and he could look into the bright blue eyes of his Precious Wolf. “I don’t think Mom is going to let me go back to the stream. So if you want to hang out, you have to be a boy and we have to use the phone, and you have to help me talk our parents into it.”

Suddenly he was lifted by the back of his shirt and dragged back. His Mom, supernaturally stronger than she appeared. Derek growled, and Talia turned on him, with a flash of her red eyes. “Back,” she snarled, and even Stiles felt the weight of the Alpha command in her tone.

Derek whined now, backing up a few steps swaying like he wanted to disobey but couldn’t.

“Mom, let go,” Stiles wiggled. “Let go.”

“We’re going to have a long discussion on safety when we get home,” his mom warned. “And you’re grounded.”

He squawked even as he got his feet back under him, his mother’s hand still fisted in the back of the sweater. “But it was all the hunters fault that I ran on to wolf territory! And I saved Derek, well then he saved me from the bad lady, so we’re even, but still, I didn’t break the rules!”

“Then we’re making new rules, better rules, _and_ discussing your appalling lack of self-preservation skills.”

“Mom!”

She finally crouched down to his level and pulled him into her arms. “You _terrified_ me. I ran through the streets, and the woods all night trying to find you, but the preserve is huge and you weren’t in any of your usual spots. I thought you’d been taken, or killed.”

His mom was crying, he could hear it, smell the salt in the air. He shot his father a desperate look, and his father sent a pointed one back that said _‘fix it._ ’ He hugged his mom back. “But I’m okay, I was brave, and fast, and okay a lot scared, but I’m okay, and we got Derek back, and he carried me all the way here on his back and they gave me breakfast. It’s okay, Mom. _I’m okay_.”

She let out a stuttering breath. “Let’s get you home.”

“But Derek.”

“Home, Stiles,” his mother was unrelenting. Her hand tightened the grip in the back of the sweater and she tugged him toward the Jeep.  

He could hear Derek whining, pitched and distressed. His heart kicked up in response, and he yearned to return to his friend. “But Derek-“

“Derek could kill you,” she said, “I’m sorry, Stiles, but you can’t be friends.”

He struggled, and reached out for Derek while his mother all but dragged him away. “Aw, Hell, come on kid,” his dad said, looking embarrassed by the display.

Derek’s back hunched and everyone froze when they heard the crack. His bones were re-adjusting, slower than Stiles’s own shift. It looked painful. Instead of trying to run forward, he quickly dropped low, putting his arms up so he slid out of the too big sweater his mother was holding on to. He heard a, _‘damn it, Stiles,’_ from his mother, but kept running, past Talia and Peter, and right to Derek, dropping to his knees, surely getting grass stains on Derek’s pants.

“Fingers and toes, Derek, fingers and toes.” The last of the formation went so fast that it was hard to comprehend the sudden boy laying, panting, on the grass. Stiles fist pumped the air. “Yes! That was awesome! You did it! I told you I was a good teacher.”

Derek’s eyes, no longer that bold blue, but a nice, normal hazel. “Stiles? That’s your name?”

“Nah,” Stiles said, but didn’t bother attempting.

“Mieczysław,” Claudia said.

“Bless you,” Derek said.

“She didn’t sneeze, you jerk, that’s my name,” Stiles groaned, and looked skyward. It was a terrible burden to bear. “So everyone calls me Stiles instead.”

“Oh,” Derek said, his cheeks turning red.

“Stiles, come on.” Claudia said, taking a tentative step forward. “It’s time to go home.”

He looked over his shoulder at his mother, then to Derek still laying on the grass. “But you won’t let me come back, will you?”

“Stiles,” his mother said his name with the warning tone.

“What if Derek came to our house?”

“Stiles,” an order this time.

Stiles bowed his head, pressing it to Derek’s forehead. “I’ll be there, when I can, I promise.”

He stepped back through the wall of adult werewolves, and back to his parents. “You’re being real overdramatic, Mom.”

She grabbed him by the back of the neck. “And we’re going to have a talk about listening.”

::

It took four weeks, and he had to tell his parents he was going to bike over to Scott’s before he could get back to the stream. First he had to bike all the way over to Scott’s so if his parents asked he could honestly said he went there, and his Mom wouldn’t be able to pick up the tick of his heart on the lie. Sure, he didn’t stay, but he went. Then he hid his bike in the bush, tucked his clothes into the backpack and threw it in the bush with his bike, and shifted.

He darted through the woods. It felt so good after being gone for so long. Back in this body. Back in the preserve. He rushed around trees, jumped over fallen logs, kicked up the dirt as he sped through. He got to the stream, no Derek, but on his side of the stream there were stems of blackberries, in various stages of decay. Stiles whined a little, sitting down. Derek had come back, it looked like every day, leaving him a twig of berries that he never got to eat. There was one fresh twig, and he ate them real too quick to even enjoy.

In return, he stepped across the stream, and rearranged the river rocks he found into a circle, then placed two as eyes, and rushed around finding more to complete a smiley face.

The sun was starting to come down- he’d lost a lot of time with the bike ride. He had to go, but now his Precious Wolf would know he’d been there.

They’d meet again soon.

With joy in his heart, the little fox ran.


End file.
